


hope in the darkest of days

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: One Shots [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Takes Care Of Sam, Dean Winchester Has Powers, Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 10, Speculation, no matter what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after the close of S9, so will probably get jossed.</p><p>Sam and Cas search for Dean. They're surprised by what they find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hope in the darkest of days

Life without Dean is hard. Sam doesn't know how ordinary people stand it, living away from their relatives, not knowing where they are or what they're doing at all hours of the day. Not knowing if they're safe.

They hear things, of course. The rumour mill is in full swing: the great Dean Winchester is possessed. No, Winchester's a monster of some kind. A new kind of demon. Sam confirms nor denies nothing, to the few hunters brave and foolish enough to ask. Demons are more talkative; they gloat that Dean is Crowley's bitch, at the King of Hell's beck and call, tortured daily, fucked by his hounds. Sam stops listening to them speak after that, just cuts himself a path through every demon he eviscerates with angel blades or Ruby's knife. The truth, as usual, is stranger than fiction.

Dean is a Knight of Hell; Crowley's second in all things. He commands an army, oversees torture, sits on a throne made of the charred remains of human carcasses.

It's so much worse than the times when they were separated before; Stanford, or the times Dean died. Sam doesn't know how safe Dean's position is, and he doesn't know how to save him from himself.

Cas is quieter these days. He's heartbroken. Sam recognises the signs. He doesn't know the extent of Dean and Cas' relationship, physically, but that doesn't change the fact that the angel is in love with his brother. Was in love. Sam wonders if Dean used to feel the same; his affection for Cas ran deep. He wonders if Dean can feel at all, any more.

They fall into a kind of natural, subdued rhythm. They ignore almost all hunts that don't proceed from demonic omens; Sam learns to read freak weather and cattle mutilations the same way the average Joe predicts the necessity for an umbrella by looking at the sky.

Driving the Impala full time is a way to be close to the spirit of Dean; his brother, not the demon that now lives in his flesh. They don't listen to Dean's tapes. Every single song reminds Sam of happier times, even the tracks Dean would only play when he was miserable or furious. A single bar of an AC/DC song is enough to have Sam scrambling to switch off the radio. They stick to country stations, where he's safe amongst the honky-tonk.

Garth is the only one who gets some of the truth out of them, when he calls them about a possible case not far from himself. They stay the night at his and Bess' house, because Garth won't hear of a motel. It's the first proper meal Sam has had in weeks; they'd been running on Funyuns and coffee fumes.

And then one day, they meet. Sam's learnt to clamp down that hopeful little voice at the back of his mind, that used to whisper that this one would be the case where the demons in town were accompanied by the big bad that is his brother now.

Crowley apparently got wind of Abaddon's soul-stealing scheme, because Sam's seen in it crop up in middling size towns all over. And then they come across one in Oklahoma City. In the same type of shady abandoned warehouse that they seem to spend half their lives creeping through, Sam and Cas are cornered by a bunch of demons, too many to handle alone. 

They get dragged into another room, and shoved to their knees. A familiar pair of legs step out of the darkness and into Sam's vision. He hardly lets himself believe it before Dean's chuckle rings out through the room.

"Well, howdy, little brother! Long time, no see."

Sam finally drags his head up; and stills. He doesn't know what he was expecting, exactly. Dean in a Crowley style suit? With black or red or white eyes. Maybe a set of horns sprouting from his head- although that's ridiculous of course. Dean's not a satyr. In fact, Dean is non of the aforementioned things. He looks exactly the same, from his boots to his frayed jeans and layered plaid: right down to the cocky smirk.

"What should we do with them, boss?" Demon henchman #1 says, and Dean looks pissed at the interruption, but Sam is grateful. He can't listen to Dean monologing like their hunt of the week, he just can't.

Dean shrugs. "What do we usually do with flies in the ointment, boys?"

There is no answer, but rough hands grab hold of Sam's hair and shoulder; he expects to have his throat slit, to bleed out on this dusty floor in some shitty no-name warehouse, but then Dean moves in a blur.

There is a burst of bright red light, and the demon holding him drops to the floor; in the distraction Sam elbows the other one in the guts, before using Ruby's knife (which was confiscated from him by the demon smoking on the ground), to gut his second assailant. He looks up, to see if Cas is safe, and finds Cas' first captor on the floor, burnt out in much the same manner as an angel smiting. Dean is in the process of smiting the second one, his hand to its face, emitting the bold red light from before.

Sam stares wordlessly when Dean grins down at him, the same grin that always followed a job well done. It's exactly the same as old times; Sam even feels the same relief in his gut. The other demons come pouring in to the room, and between the three of them, they waste them too.

Then it's just a hunter, a weak angel and a demon, standing in silence, the opening of a shitty joke. Sam is panting with exertion; some of those demons _really_ didn't want to die, but all he can think about is the brother in front of him. He wants to ask why, and what it means, but Dean doesn't give him a chance.

Dean winks at Cas, before flicking his gaze toward Sam. The First Blade is on the floor by Sam's feet; Dean opens his right hand and it flies into his palm. Sam blinks in surprise.

"Until next time, Sammy." Dean says, and then he's gone, disappearing in the same method that Crowley uses; demonic teleportation. If Sam needed even more confirmation that Dean is not a regular grunt, he just got it.

Wordlessly, Sam and Cas make their way back to the car; the trapped souls have mysteriously disappeared, jars empty. Sam has a sneaking suspicion that Dean had something to do with that too, and it brings the first real smile that his face has worn in months.

He's not going to give up hunting for a cure, or looking for his brother. The path he's chosen isn't an easy one. It's just nice to know his task might not be as difficult and one-sided as he thought it was going to be.


End file.
